


do something about it

by tryslora



Series: 1000 follower celebration [9]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, College Student Stiles, Future Fic, Lacrosse, M/M, Nude Modeling, Photography, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-31
Updated: 2015-12-31
Packaged: 2018-05-10 18:10:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5595835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tryslora/pseuds/tryslora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The lacrosse team (and members of Alpha Phi Beta) are putting together a calendar for charity. Stiles is doing the photography, Jackson is modeling. Naked. So yeah.</p>
            </blockquote>





	do something about it

**Author's Note:**

  * For [alreadyclaimednamefk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alreadyclaimednamefk/gifts).



> This is my ninth fill for my 1000 follower celebration and prompt fest. This one is for alreadyclaimednamefk and the prompt: "For the 1k+celebration, Stackson please involving that picture. Birthday striptease. (blah i'm sorry I couldn't think of anything exciting lol)". The picture referred to is [this post](http://alreadyclaimednamefk.tumblr.com/post/68567441475/becauseicandrawbutts-i-wish-lyle-by-marlen). I um... I didn't do a birthday striptease, I'm sorry, because I got caught on the idea we'd been talking about in chat with the calendar shoot and it just kind of went from there. I hope you like where it ended up!
> 
> [2016-Jan-23] Cryingrobot has translated this fic into Russian!! You can read it [here](https://ficbook.net/readfic/3978546). I'm so excited, this is cool!

Stiles almost drops his camera when Jackson walks in wearing nothing more than his lacrosse gloves and helmet and a towel wrapped around his waist. “Whoa, wait.” Stiles holds up one hand. “This is a calendar, not porn.”

“It’ll be tasteful.” Jackson’s smirk is just barely visible from behind the face mask. “You wanted to sell calendars, right? Support charity. Make a lot of money and make the Alpha Phi Beta look good. _The lacrosse bros need a reputation boost_ were your exact words. And this,” Jackson gestures with his free hand, “this will definitely make us look good.”

Stiles licks his lips because he can’t deny that Jackson looks good. Jackson looks _really_ good and Stiles needs to focus on photographing rather than ogling, and get this finished before the boner he’s already popped becomes completely uncomfortable. “You’re setting a precedent,” he grumbles. “If you go naked, everyone else has to go naked.”

“Danny’s already picked his pose.” Jackson spreads his hands, twitches his hips forward. Stiles’s gaze is drawn down to where the towel covers him, just barely hanging on his hips. “You know Scott’ll do it for charity. And the upperclassmen? They won’t be undone by the freshmen.” The smirk may not be fully visible, but it is definitely audible in the way Jackson speaks. “So what about you, Stiles? You scared to take it all off?”

“I’m photographing.” Stiles sets the camera down, busies himself fixing the lights and making a place for Jackson to stand. He sets the lights up so that Jackson will be in shadow with just a play of light over one shoulder, then grits his teeth and smiles. He reaches out, grabs onto Jackson’s shoulders, and maneuvers him into place. “I’m behind the camera for this, not in front of it.”

“You’re March,” Jackson counters. “I’ve seen the list, I know you’re on it. So tell me, Stiles, are you willing to bare everything for charity?”

Fuck.

“Fine.” Stiles stalks over and flips the lock on the studio doors. Danny’s supposed to come in, but that’s not for a couple of hours. There’s plenty of time to get this over with. “I’ll photograph you, then you can photograph me.”

Stiles doesn’t know what’s worse, the fact that Jackson can still goad him like this, even though they’re in college, or the fact that it hasn’t made his boner go away. He’s still hard as a rock, squeezed into his skinny jeans, and uncomfortable as fuck.

The thing is, Stiles thought that college would give him a chance to get away from all the baggage he’d been carrying around since high school. He was supposed to know exactly one werewolf on campus (Scott) and they both had lacrosse scholarships to pay for their education. It was a chance to start over.

Then Jackson came back to the States and he and Danny decided to go to the exact same college. And play lacrosse. _Of course_.

And all the lacrosse bros pledge Alpha Phi Beta—it’s just part of being on the team. Which means Stiles spends most of his non-studying time with a group of guys that includes Jackson. And next year, when they move into the house, he’ll be _living with him_.

Days like this aren’t going to get better. It’s only downhill from here.

Stiles picks up the camera and hands Jackson a lacrosse stick. “Okay, get ready, and I’ll shoot.”

Jackson grabs one corner of the towel and it slides off, thrown to one side. He has a glove curled in front of his dick and he’s looking down, and Stiles takes a quick picture. He likes the curve of Jackson’s neck in this, the way he seems completely unaware that Stiles even has the camera on him.

Jackson’s head snaps up. “I wasn’t ready.”

“I know.” Stiles snaps another picture, capturing the way Jackson stands with his feet slightly spread, body tense with irritation, one hand still covering his dick. “You know you look good no matter what you do, so why don’t you just shut up already?”

“Fine.” Jackson shifts his grip on the stick, holding it across his body, the basket covering his cock before his hand moves away. Head up, chin slightly tilted, he glares at Stiles as if daring him.

And of course, Stiles takes the picture.

He moves around Jackson, taking snaps from every angle. It’s a fantastic view of Jackson’s ass, the shadow and light playing over the musculature perfectly. By the time he’s done, Stiles is so hard he has to stop and shift, trying to readjust himself, and he hears the low snort.

“Can’t keep it in your pants?” Jackson asks.

“You’re the one telling me to take it out,” Stiles retorts quickly, and Jackson goes silent.

Stiles backs away, shooting Jackson from longer angles. When he shifts to a side view, he realizes that the basket is no longer pressed back against Jackson’s crotch; it hitches out slightly, the almost-hidden cock bobbing a little, stiff and red. “Problem?” Stiles asks dryly.

“You going to do something about it?” Jackson reaches up with his free hand, tugs his helmet off so that Stiles can see the arched eyebrow. He stands there, wearing gloves, and a lacrosse basket, and nothing else.

Stiles licks his lips, gaze dropping as his dick twitches inside his jeans. It’s tempting. It’s very tempting, except he doesn’t want to just do something about it. He wants Jackson to do something about _his_ problem, too. “Maybe,” he says, and he wonders if all those years of animosity are going to come down to quick hand jobs in the photography studio. “You have to photograph me, first.”

Jackson turns away, giving Stiles a great view of his assand a glimpse of his bobbing dick when he crouches down to get his towel. He wraps it around his waist, but it does nothing to conceal the hard length when Jackson faces Stiles again. “Then strip,” Jackson orders.

Stiles shows Jackson how to use the camera because if he’s going to do this then it is fucking well going to be done right. He makes sure Jackson knows how to adjust the lights, how to frame the shot, and makes sure he’ll get it right. Then Stiles strips quickly.

He doesn’t try to hide his erection, letting it bob free as he pushes his jeans and boxers down and steps out of them. He hops a little trying to get his socks off, and he ends up with a small pile of clothing by the time he’s done, shoved off to one side. He stalks over to a chair, and grabs a lacrosse stick before moving the chair into the center of the light.

He sets himself up so he’ll be half in shadow, then sprawls in the chair. His legs are spread, arms loose and easy while he holds the stick across his body, basket over his cock. He turns his head away rather than put on a helmet.

There’s a small noise from Jackson, and the click of the camera several times in succession.

Jackson has no hesitation to move Stiles, coming in close to shift the angle of his shoulders, drag one leg slightly wider, tilt his head in a different direction. He photographs him over and over, then brings him gloves to wear and cup himself instead of the stick so Jackson can start the series of photographs all over again.

Stiles knows he’s flushed by the time it’s done, skin warm even in the chill air of the studio. “You don’t need so many pictures,” he mutters. “I don’t look as good as the rest of you.”

“You look fine.” Jackson brings over the camera, crouches down next to Stiles so he can bring the images up on the screen. Stiles sees himself sprawled there, his skin pale and flushed, the moles stark in this lighting. He’s not as muscular as Jackson, but he’s not soft. It’s not bad.

And Jackson crouching next to him spreads the towel, giving Stiles a straight view down to his cock and balls. That’s not a bad image, either.

Jackson gets up, walks away to put the camera on the computer and start uploading pictures. He hooks his fingers in the towel, and as he turns back, he undoes the tuck, loosening it, letting it fall down his hips. It’s barely held in place, barely covering the tented erection. “You going to do something about it?” His voice is softer, less challenging and more uncertain, and that alone makes Stiles want this more.

“Depends,” Stiles says. He sits up on the chair, drops the gloves to the side and motions for Jackson to come closer. As soon as Jackson’s within reach, Stiles tugs, urging him to straddle Stiles’s knees and settle in on top of him. “You going to do something about _my_ problem?”

Jackson exhales with a small huff, slides closer to Stiles and wraps his hand around them both. As his fingers tighten, Stiles groans, lets his head fall back, because _fuck_. Jackson fucking Whittemore is grinding against him, jerking him off, and making sounds that should be illegal and go straight to Stiles’s groin every time. Stiles reaches out, grips Jackson’s ass with tight fingers, digs into the muscles and flesh and Jackson _whines_ and jerks against him.

“You like that?” Stiles asks, and Jackson makes a small noise. Stiles lets his hands slide, lets one finger press against the rosebud of Jackson’s ass and oh _fuck_ yes, that was a good sound. And Jackson’s jerking them off harder now, almost too rough, but Stiles doesn’t give a shit because he’s on edge and so close and yeah… oh yeah… fuck that’s it. He comes with a loud groan, spilling over Jackson’s hand and his own chest, and he feels Jackson’s dick jerk as well when Jackson comes.

Stiles opens his eyes, looks up to see Jackson staring at him, blue eyes wide with pupils blown, expression wary.

“What?” Stiles asks. “It was good, okay? It’s not like I expect you to want anything else.”

Jackson blinks rapidly. “And if I did?”

What?

“What?” Stiles lets go of Jackson’s ass slowly, hands sliding to his hips instead. “Wait… what?”

Jackson’s gaze slides sideways to the discarded towel lying on the floor near Stiles’s pile of clothes. “I came in with a plan,” Jackson says slowly, head tilted slightly, chin jutting out defensively. “And it worked. So what if I want it again?”

“You want my pale ass naked again.” Stiles stares at Jackson the entire time he speaks, trying to figure out if this is a trick. “You want to do this again.”

One eyebrow arches, falls. “Maybe more.” Jackson shrugs. “We’ll have to see how it goes. Since we’re going to be living in the same house and all.”

“I am going to have to gag you if I fuck you in the house, because you are one noisy dude,” Stiles says, and Jackson flushes, hips jerking like maybe that would be a good thing.

Huh. Well then.

“I’m in,” Stiles decides, because really, it’s not a bad thing. “But if this isn’t a one off, then it’s not a closeted hand jobs when we’re bored thing, either. We’re dating. All in, like I mean kissing, and you take me out on the Whittemore dime, I fuck you and everyone is totally aware that we’re doing it. All of it.”

Jackson palms Stiles’s face with his clean hand, leans forward to kiss him, slow and easy, like they’ve got all the time in the world. “Deal. On the condition that I get to tell the world what a fucking little shit my boyfriend is.”

“As long as you don’t mind me making sure everyone knows what an asshat I’m dating,” Stiles counters.

They seal it with a kiss.

And twenty minutes later they might just seal it with another round of hand jobs.

Whatever, it works, and they manage to get cleaned up and dressed before Danny arrives for his shoot.

And the calendar? Comes out fantastic and makes a lot of money before the administration forces them to stop selling it. Which is fine. Stiles still has all the shots he took of Jackson that day backed up on disk, and plenty more that they’ve taken since. Jackson likes to challenge Stiles, and Stiles sure as hell doesn’t mind. After all, they both win in the end.

**Author's Note:**

> You can also find me [on tumblr](http://tryslora.tumblr.com)!


End file.
